OUR SERIAL STORY HER DEAREST WISH.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume I, Issue 99, 8 April 1911, Page 9

OUR SERIAL STORY HER DEAREST WISH.

(Continued.) •'?•<> high a sum wotr.d fnght<-n my baby. ' .-.he .said. “Cali a cab for me, Morgan. Here—give me a glass of champagne before 1 go.’ He gave it to her, still eyeing her with aamiration. “Perfect actress!’ he niurinuredec-eesta-t ioally. “Oh, I shall play the part ail right. It’s easy enough with sueh an easy child as lie is.” “If Trevor comers I’ll have him told tlwrt you’re in bed with headache.” Site arrested tiie second glass on its way to her Lips, and exclaimed : “Thank God, 1 shall escape from him ! He was here yesterday , and—well, that w«s a hard part, to play I It was as much as I could do to keep from screaming out, ‘1 hate you—l hate you! Take your hands off me ” Morgan Thorpe laughed. “By this time to-morrow you will have put a good many miles between you and that too ardent- lover of yours, my dear,” he said, soothingly. He called a cab and closely veiled, she entered, and was drived off. As she passed from the house to the cab, Trevor came round the coiner. He saw her and recognised her. and he stood still for a moment with astonishment. Then lie went on to the honso and knocked. “la Mrs Dalton home?” lie asked, as coolly as he could. “Yes. sir," replied the French ! maid, blandly; “but madaiue is con- ' fined to lier room with a bad Jieadi ache." She saw him wince and start, saw ; the blood leave his face slowly. ! “I’m sorry,” he said, curtly. “Tell i her— But never mind. -Good-night 1 Ma pie.’-' He went (Lwn the steps awl w.ilk!ed a few spaces. Then he ran. ’Hie ; cab was still in sight. At the end of i the street ihe hailed, anti jumped into, i a hansom. ; “Follow tibat cab!” he said. “Keep [ out of sight if you can. Follow it, ami mind you don't lose sight of it!” Gaunt stood with ’his back to the door wiiich he had closed on Decima —and waited. He lieard the froufrou of a woman’s dress; the other door opened, there came the faint perfume which he remembered so well and loathed so bitterly, and the woman, his wife, entered. The lamp was low. and shaded by a deep crimson shade, the fire-light flickered. In the faint light she did not. for the first moment or two of her entrance, see him. She moved to the fire, carefully threw back the hood of lier fur cape, and held out lier hands to the fire: and he. motionless and in silence, watched her. He had once loved, or persuaded himself that he had loved tins woman. He could ’nave laughed aloud with bitter self-scorn and mockery. She warmed her hands daintily, glanced at t<he clock, yawned, put up her hand to smooth the hair which the hoed had ruffled, then turned and < looked round the room, and—saw him. For a moment -die did not recognise him, and uttered a faint- cry <>f surprise. Then with a shriller, though strangely repressed cry. she moved towarris him, her head projected, her eyes fixed on him. She looked. as she moved, like an exquisitely beautiful snake. She was within a couple of paces before the words—“ls it you!” broke from her parted lips. (hunt, white and rigid, made a gesture of assent. “Yes." he said; “why are you here ?” She drew a long breath as if she were choking, then .die camo nearer, and stared at him as sie- broke into a laugh—a laugh of triumph and derision. "It is you !’’ she repeated. “You —my husband! Well—My God. it’s too good to be true ! You—you here ! How did you come. Why?” She looked round the room, as if amazed and perplexed, and tlren back at him. Her beautiful face flushed beneath the paint, her eyes shone like stars within the artistically drawn shadows. It was the lai** of a mask, suddenly hideously. endued with life. “This is my home—my rooms,” he said. His own voice seemed to him as if it iielonged to some one speaking at a great distance. « “Your—your rooms!" she repeated. dully. Then her eyes glittened. and she laughed. “Yours' Then —then—you are Lord Gaunt?” “1 am Lord Gaunt—yes.” he said, as dully and mechanically as before. She put her hand to her forehead and then to her throat, as if the thoughts that- were crowding on lier were suffocating her. "You are Ixird Gaunt ! Lhese rooms tire yoirrs! >on inv a nobleman—a swell—and my husband!" “Yes." si: I. in exactly the same lifeless tone. “I am your husband. She lea-n-?d against the back e 7 a chair and breathed heavily, then sate laughed. "I luive found you—found you at last! And you are Uud Gaunt! And I am. yes. I must be. of courseLady Gaunt ! Lady Gaunt! My God. this was worth living ;<a ! ’ CHAPTER XX VIII. “It- is worth living for!” she retsrtted. with a choking unig!:. ’'!'<■ think of i:!’ .to-c snarehel up b-y.l; tl,.- Stit'd '.::■!■• ’’ear 3rd d .died !• " li.on! •*'«? :: ••over. w!:t 41 l»->r-? li:< !•• .• te '- it-li its -.-?.t of arms aG-vo his i-w.- • -i l.i e.

“To think that I knew, you were the owner here, that I’ve seen your name in all these I rooks, and never knew, never guessed— ”

Site paused, breathless with excitement and triumph. Her voice, usually so musical, was thick and vulgar. the vulgarity of a common nature bursting through the tiiin coating of veneer, and she was at mat moment, as she confronted him, for all her beauty and grace, a virago of the worst, type.

Gaunt, stood quite still, his eyes fixed on her with the calmness of despair, the impassivity of disgust. “Why did you leave me?” she demanded, stridently. “Why did you do it?”

“Can you ask,” he said, very quietly. “Do you think it was possible for me to -remain with you when I dscovered—what you were, what and who it was I had married ”

The reply infuriated her. She took a step towards him, and stared into his face with the passion of hate burning in her black eyes. "You deserted me!”

“1 left you, yes,” he said, as calmly as before; “but deserted—in the strict, the legal sense—no. 1 provided for you—” “A l>eggarly a'llowa-nce. You married me in a false name!’’

“No.” he said again, with a touch of wcfariness in has voice. “Edvard and Barnwrd are two of my names. I concealed my family name and title; yes, tliat js true. I must have had some presentiment—of what you were.”

She flung lier arms out. “The law will a’each you, punish von !’ ’ site hissed.

He made a slight gesture of indaffereisce.

“You cannot get rid of me!” she exclaimed, with an air of triumph. “You cannot divorce me! Yon would if you could!” “No," he said, in exactly the same tone. It was as if 'he. were con fro i bring lier passion with the calmness of despair, the indifference of the of the rock to the bowling wave which beats against it in vain. “Do whia»t you will, I should not seek for a divorce. I am content to suffer anything rather than bring shame and disgrace upon the name I bear.”

“You ean bring no charge against me!" she exclaimed defiantly. He made a gesture of assent. “1 am glad,” lie said, with a sigh. “I left you because 1 discovered what yon were- before 1 married you. Be silent a moment!” for she had opened her lips as if about to protest, retort. “Put yourself in my place. I loved you, deeming you all that a girl should be, all that a woman should be, who takes the name of an honest man. 1 found— Ah! why should I tell vou? You know.’

She flung lierseff into a’ chair, and leaning her face on her hand, Looked up at him with a mixture of defiance and hatred. “What else coul dl do but leave you!"" lie went on. “What other course was open to a man of honor wlhvi he had disrovcied that he had married —an adventuress of the worst-, t'he vilest, ty-pe?” God knows, I loved you—’’

She laughed discordantly. “Not you !” she retorted. “Yes.” he Maid, as calmly as before; “1 loved you. Why ehe should' 1 have married you? I should have loved you to the end. w-hil’e life lust-ed. if 1 had not disi-ov-ercd what you had been. Even then 1 would have fought against that terrible knowledge and —and renaiiiin;<l with you, if I had no:t learned also that you were without a heart, that you had married me for a place in the world—fo.r money.” He paused and looked gravely at her. A.ll the while he had been talking to lier, looking at her. he had been thinking of De-dma; had beein contra sting this w<unan.hi.s wife, the adventuress with her vile p.ust, •con-tra-stin-g her with t'he pure-minded girl who had just left- him. It was as if an angel of light had flown from his side and a fiend in woman's shape had taken heir place. His heart felt numbed with the misery of despair, with the 11 iter hopelessness of th e situation.

It axis as if he had ben suddenly awakened from an exquisite dream of bliss to find tliat his Lours were numbered; or, worse still, that the rest of bis days were to Im* spent in a. darkness and anguish beyond words to dew r I Im*.

(To be Continued.)